


you and i (pool party remix)

by solarsystems



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, F/M, Female Harry Styles, Gender or Sex Swap, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Where We Are Tour, girl!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-02-28 13:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2734718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarsystems/pseuds/solarsystems
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“this is the happiest i’ve ever been,” and it’s true, isn’t it? she doesn’t need a lot, just the sun above her and her zayn next to her, all over her, tucked in close.</p><p>☼</p><p>or: one direction are on a worldwide stadium tour. harry loves zayn. zayn loves harry. it's alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you and i (pool party remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gorgeousnerd/gifts).



> this is my contribution to the one direction holiday exchange! i chose the vaguest prompt you had, and still didn't follow it that closely, but i hope 6k words of porn will soothe the sting of disappointment. 
> 
> this never would have seen the light of day without [lola](http://archiveofourown.org/users/polishedstone) and [chelsea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cocainekisses/pseuds/cocainekisses). i'm so happy you're here. 
> 
> accompanying fic mix is found on 8tracks. [[link]](http://8tracks.com/solarsystems/you-and-i-pool-party-remix)  
> ♡on twitter at @mutantau♡

  
__

_“it’s like this: say there’s a whole room of people and you’re somewhere in the middle of them all. I walk in and I see you, but you don’t suddenly become the only person in the room. god no. you become the room. you are the room."_

it’s hot. it feels as though the sun could bend down, peer into harry’s eyes and exhale, and drown her in heat, just like that. there’s no pattering of rain on the windows, just a sheet of glowing warmth like a blanket on her skin.

it’s a tired metaphor, she thinks dazedly. it fits though.

so it’s hot. that’s about how much harry knows about the american state they’re currently in. it’s almost in the thirties, the air vibrating with heat. harry’s hair is slick with sweat against her neck, even with the air conditioning running. she’s spread eagle on the bed, the sheets soft against her cheek. she thinks idly that things would be better if she was naked, but as of right now she’s wearing a bikini and a sundress, because she was just going to go to the pool, but it’s still way too many items of clothing for a day like this.

the bikini she picked out for today is black. it’s also tiny. there’s black mesh and some strategically put x’es. the bottoms are tiny too, mesh bits on the sides with smaller strips of black fabric over her arse and cunt. she hasn’t had a wax in a few weeks, and she can rock this look. it looks hot, anyway. she looks good. both boys and girls have told her this. even if no one had told her, whispered it into her skin in the dead of the night, she knows. 

zayn knows this too. she’s knows that he knows, because he told her this that one time they fucked on the tour bus, bodies tucked in close and the smell of his cologne like a veil over her. 

there’s a buzz of arousal between her thighs as she thinks about how he tucked one of her legs over his shoulder and stayed in deep, hitting that one spot over and over again until she could feel tears threatening to run out of the corner of her eyes. he fitted his lips over hers to swallow up the noises she made when she came, and his thumb rubbed just to the side of her clit, and then she came all over his cock, and she felt dirty and beautiful and everything in between. they shared a blunt afterwards, his head against her tits and one of her hands stroking through his hair.

the memory feels somewhat detached now, like maybe it was just a figment of her imagination. but then again, the way zayn curled his hand around her thigh the night after, when they were on bus one watching some random movie louis had chosen, was real. it’s real.

vaguely, she thinks of how it would feel to put her fingers through his hair now, now that it’s longer, unkempt and thicker than before. how it would to have his head tucked between her thighs, the raspiness of his stubble against the sensitive skin there.

anyway. pool. swimming. she gathers up her towel and shuffles her feet into a pair of flip flops, gathers her hair into a bun and locks the door after herself, tucking the keycard into her top. she almost skips the three flights of stairs down to the pool area, because today is a good day, she’s on a worldwide stadium tour with her best friends and now she’s off to the pool at a five star hotel and her zayn is just a few rooms over and life is good. 

the pool area is closed off for regular guests, and it’s almost eerily empty when she steps foot on the glazed tile. she chooses a sunbed in the far back, out of view from the hotel windows, just her and the blueness of the pool. 

the american leg of the tour is coming to an end, and she’d like to get somewhat of a tan before they return to the uk for promo for the new album. she’d also like a martini of some kind, but perhaps that would have to wait. she’s not twenty one yet, even though she’d like to think she could totally pass for twenty two at the very least.

niall, louis and liam went off shopping earlier, were yelling something about a shop called “dicks” which obviously sounded pleasant enough, but tanning is so much more important. zayn had mentioned a planned skype date with his mum, which, fair enough. he loves his mum. but there are so many things that he could do today, like make out with her on a sun bed next to the pool, or fuck her against the wall of his hotel room. 

she knows they’re technically not a regular thing, just a few times in bunks and hotel rooms, and that one time when he came over to her big, lonely apartment because she rang him up scared out of her wits, going on about how there was someone sneaking around outside the kitchen window. which there totally was. she was scared. 

harry doesn’t do good with being alone. she likes people, likes the buzz of a party, likes the low rumbling of people talking around her. and she likes her zayn. 

she remembers the first time she saw him, and how she fell a tiny bit in love. to think of it, she fell a bit in love with every single one of them, simply because they were hers, but zayn was different. he had been a bit rounder around the edges back then, brightest smile you’ve ever seen, but a lack of confidence made him tuck into himself, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. 

harry was the complete opposite. she’d always been. “perfect popstar, born for it,” zayn had said that one time, and it rings true. she loves the bright lights, the screaming of a frantic crowd. she eats it up, could do this forever until she was old and weathered and people were asking why she was still doing it. 

she smooths her towel out over the sunbed, tucks her things under the fabric, kicks her flip flops off and takes off running, letting out a shriek that echoes off the walls as her feet leave the tiles and the cold water hits her skin. it’s all blueblueblue, and the taste of chlorine is strong on her lips as she takes in a gulp of air when she surfaces. life is good. if it wasn’t for how her zayn was tucked away in some hotel room, certainly not fucking her senseless. this needs to remedied. 

she hums to herself as she gets out of the pool, long hair heavy against the back of her neck and slick against her collarbones. there’s no padding or underwire in this top, because harry believes in freedom and doing whatever the fuck she wants. it’s also convenient. she’s careful to wipe her hands off on her towel before she grabs her phone, unlocking it and typing in a text to “zeee xx”.

_“come down to the pool? i’ll share my earbuds. x”_

her phone goes off not even a minute later, and she smiles to herself as she sees his reply. he still texts like a fourteen year old asking for dirty pictures, which could be a huge turn off but somehow, this boy makes it work.

_“sure aha :) jus u or some1 else there 2 xx”_

“just me. wear the grey trunks haha x”

she get’s an emoji wearing sunglasses as a reply, which is definitely good enough. he had gotten these grey swim trunks from american apparel like three months ago when they were in stockholm, and his skinny legs go on for miles and all his tattoos are on display and he just looks so good. it’s not far from being naked, which is harry’s favourite state of dress, thank you very much. 

her preferred playlist for the day is “dont worry be happy :)” which liam made for her once when she felt homesick and didn’t feel like getting out of bed or brushing her teeth or doing anything, and he took it upon himself to make her smile. it’s all jack johnson, the beach boys and surprisingly enough enrique iglesias, because liam is a little shit. the sweetest little shit she has ever had the privilege of being friends with, but a little shit nonetheless.

she lies down on the sunbed, long legs stretching out behind her as she reaches back to undo the clasp at the back of her top. the last thing this girl needs is tan lines. 

☼

she almost dozes off, a drake song in her ear now, soothing as the sun bears down on her, before there’s a warm hand on her ankle. 

“don’t burn, habiba.” his voice sounds warmer than the sun when he calls her that. it’s usually reserved for his sisters and his mum, but sometimes it goes for her too. it makes her heart swell in her chest, all pride and love for this boy next to her.

“wasn’t getting a burn,” she replies, hands pushing off the sunbed as she turns around to face him. 

he’s wearing the grey trunks and his skinny legs are sticking out, feet shuffling against the tile. he’s the prettiest boy harry has ever seen. 

it’s totally not part of her plan to leave her top on the sunbed, smug smile on her lips when she can see his eyes drop and then jump right back up to meet hers. instead she slings her feet over the side of the bed and pats the space next to her, like sitting next to him without a top on is totally normal. 

he sits down then, leaning backwards until his naked back hits the sunbed and he gets situated, his scrawny limbs finally finding a place to lie comfortably. his eyes are dark as he peers at her then, and she can feel his hand sneaking up on her thigh, over her hip and settling close to her pubic bone, and she just wants him closer.

“what about those earbuds, huh?”

☼

“fancy a swim?” he asks, because of course he asks. he’s still leaning back against the sunbed, but his thumb is rubbing against the outside of her thigh, his hand curled around her leg. his ears are a bit red. it might be the sun. she’ll let him think that she thinks it’s the sun.  
because this is a boy who can sing like a goddamn angel in front of a hundred thousand people, can dress up in a dress and high heels and actually make it work, but the thing that makes him blush is a naked body, pressed up close against him.

she’s suddenly reminded that she’s just twenty, zayn a year older, and they’re on a stadium tour and they’re together, and she’s hit with the heaviness of realization that she loves this boy. she always did.

leaning forward then, she presses her lips to the corner of his, just a soft press and then she pulls back. she just wants to be close to him, really. just wants him closer, eat him up. 

his hand comes up to press the pads of his fingers against the place where her lips had been, like she's still there, the echo of her touch still resonating within him. the air is suddenly too hot, and it's not the sun beating down on their skin that's making her feel that way.

“race you, malik,” and she’s off, forgetting about the hotel rooms high above her, thinks of nothing but this bright boy behind her and the blue water ahead. she tucks herself into a ball in the air, hits the surface and goes under, and she can feel the thud of him jumping in as well, a body hitting the water and the skin of his arm brushing against her thigh.

she smooths her hair back as she surfaces, head leaned back and her tits just out, water running off her. he comes up right beside her, and she can feel his eyes heavy on her when he’s rubbed the water off his face.

“you’re making it really hard to be just friends, haz,” he sighs, running a hand through his wet hair. his cheeks are scruffy from not shaving for a week, and his biceps are bulging against the side of his ribcage. harry’s mouth is watering.

“who said i want to be just friends?” she replies, cringing because this is getting big and harry doesn’t really do big, no big words, no big declarations of love. but this is her zayn. zayn, who will stay awake with her when hotel rooms feel too big and her mum is too far away and there are people screaming outside the window. zayn, who will attempt to put together a meal for her at her own apartment, who will let her sleep tucked up in his bed, who will wash her hair for her when it’s two am and she hasn’t slept in thirty two hours. 

“kinda wanna kiss you, to be honest,” she says, and apparently that’s the only answer he needs. he reaches around her and puts one arm on her waist and the other at the back of her neck, steadying her as he leans in to press his lips against hers. 

she tips her head back into his hand, makes him chase her. she’s always been one to enjoy the chase. 

☼

zayn looks closer to holy like this, leaning over her on the sunbed, looking down at her with so much adoration in his eyes that she could live off only this for the rest of her life, could stay like this forever and be happy.

“wanna eat you out, haz,” and she nods fervently, wants him closer still. her hands are fisted in his hair already, the locks of it spilling out over her fingers.

“sure we won’t be seen, habiba?” he says, whispering it into the side of her neck, and really, he could ask her if the earth was flat like a pancake and she’d nod, agree with whatever nonsense he was saying. she hums back, not sure if it’s a yes or a no herself. it doesn’t matter, not with the way he’s kissing his way down her neck, pressing his lips against her collarbone.

he starts to work his way down, pausing over her tits to pull the fabric down in order to press kisses to her nipple, the ghost of his teeth making her feel electric. 

it’s an impulse decision to tug on his hair, to make him focus on her words again. his eyes are dark as her green ones meet his, but he’s focused, looking intently at her face, 

“this is the happiest i’ve ever been,” and it’s true, isn’t it? she doesn’t need a lot, just the sun above her and her zayn next to her, all over her, tucked in close.

there’s a ghost of a laugh pressed into the side of her ribs now, and she can feel his smile, his lips upturned against her skin. he’s poking her side, and she turns her toes towards his tummy, digging in hard to make him squirm. they’re both laughing now, and he’s grabbing at her and her heart feels too big for her body, like she could float upwards like a balloon, towards the sun and further still, stretching on and on. 

“you sound like a crazy donkey, habiba. i love it,” and usually she’d be offended but his voice is filled with laughter too and everything is bright and good here and nothing hurts.

his head is between her thighs now, the scruff of his cheek on the right side of good against her skin. she cards her fingers through his hair again, tugging a bit on it just like she knows he likes. there’s a growl against her skin now, and she can see his hips stutter against the surface underneath them, wanting so heavy it’s physical and real. but then he presses his lips against her clit, and the world zeroes in on the feeling of his mouth against her.

harry can be quite bossy, she’s a girl who knows what she wants. which is why she speaks up.

“babe, i need you to listen, can you do that for me?” as he nods, “want your mouth on me, no fingers, yeah?” and he looks so intently at her, just wants to please her and make her back arch off the sunbed. she grinds her hips against his chest then, just to feel his skin against hers.

“now i need you to stop talking so i can make you feel good, yeah?” and his accent is heavy in his mouth and he’s so pretty and his lips are glistening with her and it’s warm and nothing can hurt them here.

☼

his feet are heavy against the tile. she can feel every step he takes, the weight of two bodies heavy on his knees, the soles of his feet. she can also hear the sound of his laughter bounce off the walls, no fabric to absorb the cackle of his voice, just him all over, everywhere. 

they’re running down the hallway and he’s got his arms wrapped around her legs, hitched up over his hips. she can feel how wet her cunt is against the warm skin of his back. thank god they rented out the entire hotel this time around, because two popstars, one of them naked, running down the hallway would probably be the next day’s headline news.

“ya know, i never thought this day would come,” he says, fingers pressing into her calves. he’s slowed down, nearing the door to his hotel room, softer steps against the tiles. he works one hand into the pocket of his shorts, and she can see how he’s careful not to touch the arch of his hard cock under the fabric, tenting them like in an old and terrible high school film. 

she presses a kiss to the skin behind his ear, and she can see him twitch in his trousers, hard and aching from just eating her out and now from her lips on his skin.

“wanna suck you off, so hurry up babe,” and her voice is a faint whisper now, soft against his skin. he chokes out a laugh when his fingers scrabble for the key card, finally getting his grip on it and swiping it through the slit, hearing the click of the lock and wrenching the door open, hands tight around her calves again. 

the echo of her laugh doesn't bounce between the walls here, instead the vibrations of her voice is absorbed by the soft curtain and the carpet under his feet, and it’s soft under her feet too as he bends his knees to put her down. she shivers as he turns around, his gaze heavy as it lands on her.

“stop looking at me like that.” 

“like what?” and his eyes are all crinkly and she wants to just eat him up, bite him all over.

“like you’ve seen me naked,” and it’s a joke because she crosses her arms over her bare chest as she says it, laughter pouring out of her mouth again. and this is what it’s like to be with this boy, all laughter and light, pressed up close together, skin on skin. 

he bends forward then, but she just presses the ghost of a kiss to the side of his mouth before getting on her knees, smoothing her hands down his belly, nails catching in the sparse trail of her going into his trunks. she’s settling on the floor as she catches his eye and pats the surface of the bed.

“still wanna blow you, zed,” and because he’s twenty one and desperate, he almost stumbles over her in his haste to get on the bed, chuckling when his foot hits the side of her leg. 

she pinches him then, on the soft inside of his thigh, not as hard as she would if they were just fooling around, like so many times before. because they’re best friends, and she doesn’t want to fuck that up. she knows they won’t, but she just cares so much. she wants to keep him forever, hide him in the most inner parts of herself so that no one could ever put a harmful hand on him. 

her mind flashes back to the first time they did this, in one of the bunk beds in the x factor house, the others somewhere unspecified else, just not here. his cheeks were soft and the buzz of the hair on his head was rough against her throat as he worked his way down her body. he’d fingered her open, big eyes in wonder at the way she arched of the bed when he crooked his fingers upwards, tucked in close. 

they were so small back then, tiny kids on the brink of everything they ever dreamt of. she likes to think they handled it well, the outsold gigs, the screaming fans, the flashes of the cameras. they’re still here, aren’t they? they’re all still here, and she still loves them like her goddamn life depends on it, because they, all four of these boys, lit something deep inside of her and there’s going to take a lot to take this fire out.

that same fire, the feeling of light and love and everything bright, still buzzes through her when she presses a kiss to the skin she just pinched, soothing the sting.

”you’re the prettiest thing i have ever seen, and i’m not just sayin’ that because you’re about to put your mouth on my cock,” he offers, breathless.

“love you too, doucheface,” she says as she pulls the material of his swim trunks down, pressing a kiss to the skin just revealed. he lets out a shaky breath, and out of the corner of her eye she can see him putting a fist against the bed cover, knuckles going white.

his cock is pretty, which is a weird way to think about a penis, she thinks dazedly, but it’s true. the head is almost red with how hard he is, and the trail of hair that she’d previously pressed a kiss to ends abruptly, all smooth from then on. he must have shaved just before coming down to her at the pool, and the thought of him bent over himself in the en suite bathroom makes her heart swell. 

“prettiest boy.”

“oh, just a minute ago, it was, uhm, doucheface,” and he’s still breathless, abs tightening up as she exhales right over the tip, ghost of a touch against him. 

pressing a kiss to the tip, she mouths against the head, precome already leaking out of him. his thighs are quivering a bit, his belly rising with every shaking breath and she presses a hand to the skin there, to keep him anchored. 

she catches his eye as she swallows him down, feels him swell even further once behind her teeth, keeps her line of vision steady and watches him quiver under her yet again. this is her favourite part of being with him, how he still can’t quite believe that she wants him, needs him. 

pulling back just a bit, with just the head off his cock pressed to her lips, “can i use my fingers too?”

the boy underneath her just nods fervently, knuckles going white and the skin between his eyebrows tightening up.

and then she’s taking her mouth off him with a pop, slapping a hand weakly against his thigh as she gets up on her feet and scrabbles through her duffel for the bottle of lube that she knows is there somewhere, between old gum wrappers and odd currency coins.

“scoot up, babe,” she calls over her shoulder, finally grasping at the lube packet and spinning around, and there he is and everything about him just keeps knocking the goddamn wind out of her. his tiny knees, the way his cock lies against his belly, how his fingers are carding through his dark hair, and the way he looks at her, can’t stop his gaze from jumping all over her body, like there’s too much of her and too little time to take all of it in. 

he’s looking at her like she’s orpheus, leading her zayn out of the underworld, saying “come here, baby, i’m all you need,”, and it makes sense. zayn would follow her everywhere, over the whole world, and he has. they’re on the other end of the world, really, and the sky's still blue outside of their windows, and they’re still singing. they’re still making noise, still fighting for what they want so badly. they’re alright.

“i love you,” and his entire face lights up when she says it back because they both know it’s true. 

“love you too doucheface, now let me put my fingers to use, yeah?” 

knee walking up the bed, the air around her warm like the sun, she feels like a goddess. she is.

he smells like orange flavored shower gel and weed and chlorine and something that’s just distinctly _him_ , and it makes her entire being buzz with want. later, she discovers that he tastes like all those things too.  
☼

“how do you like that? think you can take another?”

“yes, uh, fuck, haz,” and it’s breathless and incoherent because she’s two fingers knuckle deep into him now, fingers curling upwards on every stroke and he looks so fucking pretty like this, sheen of sweat on his chest and all him soft and ripped open just for her. she’s just mouthing at the head of his cock, pulling off every few seconds to murmur encouragement into his skin, to keep him on the edge. 

she edges another finger in, stretching him impossibly further, and fuck, because right now she wishes she had a dick so bad, because imagine feeling that? the tightness of him, the desperation of someone so close to the edge under you like this.

“fucking love this,” she whispers, because it’s true and the noises he’s making is adding to the wetness between her legs and she just loves everything about this boy and about this moment in time. she loves him.

“gonna come, haz, fucking hell,” and his cock almost jerks against the roof of her mouth and then his entire body goes taut and then he’s coming. he’s making these bitten off noises, like he’s trying to stop himself for making noise and then not being able to, too much. 

she swallows most of it, the salty and tangy taste of it at the back of her throat, but some catches on her bottom lip. she lets it, because she wants to see the look on his face when he can see what she looks like right now, hair all messy and his come on her cheek. 

he resurfaces then, his cock finally going down, softening against his inner thigh where she let him go.

“fucking hell,” and it looks like it’s the last thing he will do when he puts his hands under her arms and pulls, so that he’s on his lap and he can get at her mouth, tasting himself on her. his tongue is soft, his hands on her waist softer still. they’ve got all the time in the world.

“don’t think i can go again this soon,” zayn says as he pulls back, and he looks so embarrassed about it, like he could help the way she put her hands on him, made him choke out her name. “sit on my face?” he adds, tacks it onto his sentence and looks up at her through his lashes.

she nods after a moment, feeling almost boneless after her first orgasm down by the pool, and now she’s finally relaxing after making him come, feeling accomplished for making this boy feel all those things. but there’s still a buzz of arousal between her legs, so she pushes his head down into the mattress and scoots further up, until there’s nothing between her cunt and his pretty mouth.

“show me what you got, big boy,” which is probably the least sexy thing she could say right now, but he just laughs and his eyes go a bit crinkly and then his lips are pursed around her clit and her mind just zooms in on the feeling of his lips against her and nothing else matters. 

“do they taste different?” there’s a hum from underneath her, and the pressure lets off for a second, so she knows he’s listening. “the tattoos, i mean. do they, uh, taste different from skin?” 

he pulls back then, staring intently at the tattooed skin over her hip bones, the leaves spanning out over her lower belly. “maybe? you taste a bit like ink, sometimes. and like, uh, iron, and of daisies, and of cardamom.” the sound of his voice is muffled a bit against her thigh, but she gets the idea. 

he’s tasted her in so many different ways, like that one time she had her cup in and he ate her out for half an hour because she had cramps and he’d looked into it, read somewhere online that apparently orgasms helped with that. he tasted her when she was just sixteen in a bunk bed in the x factor house, her pubic hair trimmed short because she was insecure and _sixteen_. and he tasted her that one time backstage, right before they went on stage and there were a hundred thousand people out there waiting for them, screaming for them, and yet he couldn’t let her go out there without putting his mouth on her. he loves all of her, really.

__he goes back then, to where he belongs, head under her cunt and licking upwards, to make her sit down on him, make him struggle for breath with the way she put her weight on his face._ _

__she threads her fingers through his hair, the locks spilling out of her fingers just like she imagined, soft against her palms. there’s a sigh just behind her teeth, waiting to be spilled out when he puts a finger in her, curling it upwards just like he knows she likes and there it is, vibrations of sound escaping through her lips even though she consciously tries to stop it._ _

__not that she has a lot of say in what’s happening right now, because she feels almost split open on just that one finger, and when he puts his other hand on her lower belly, putting pressure just right, it feels like she could jump off a goddamn bridge with how hard she’s clenching around his finger and then she’s coming, hips stuttering against his face, her back curled as to keep it in, keep all of him close._ _

__he doesn’t stop, just keeps licking just right at the side of her clit, and her second orgasm comes just off the back of the first one, caught by surprise and his palm pressed against her belly._ _

__“fuck, zed,” is all she can muster, properly boneless now, and she slouches down impossibly slow so that they’re chest to chest. opening her mouth against his, she can taste herself on his tongue._ _

__she puts one hand in his hair, just trading lazy kisses between them. he’s squeezing one of her arse cheeks a bit, but not enough. just to get a feel, probably. she doesn’t mind._ _

__when she’s yawning in between every touch of their lips, he straightens up, and presses a final kiss to her forehead._ _

__“sleep now,” he mutters, and he’s manhandling her so that he’s behind her, because apparently he’s the big spoon, which suits harry just fine. her mind flickers back to that interview she and niall did in australia, and the interviewer had prepared a quickfire round of questions, asked them whether they did their own grocery shopping (a yes to that one, thank you very much), if they preferred fajitas over tacos and finally, little spoon or big spoon?  
she had smiled coyly then, a smirk on her face as she said “little spoon,”. _ _

__her twitter had exploded with replies when it had gone live, because apparently this is the kind of thing her fans like. she likes it too, the way her zayn curls around her, broad shoulders and tinier waist against her back._ _

__“love you,” she says before she drifts off, his responding hum from behind her the last thing she hears before sleep takes over._ _

__☼_ _

__the sound of harry’s tummy growling at her is what wakes her up. she blinks awake, can feel zayn still asleep against her, his warm breath against the naked skin of her shoulder. the sheets are too warm now, even with the balcony door open, and she shrugs them off, wiggling around to find a comfortable position without waking her zayn. he’s a deep sleeper most of the time, but sometimes hotel rooms are _too_ quiet, and she knows he can spend entire nights chain smoking cigarettes, the tv blaring from across the room. __

____this life can hollow you out, make your skin translucent and never ever let you go. they’re not quite there yet. she loves it more than she hates it._ _ _ _

____she picks her phone up from the floor where she dropped it earlier, before they settled into bed and touched each other’s skin, curled in close and never left. she has a few texts from the lads, and a missed call from her mum. she texts niall back, and presses the green button next to her mother’s name, holds it up to her ear as she gets out of bed and pads over to the balcony. the air is cool against her skin._ _ _ _

____her mother chirps in her ear when she picks up, voice happy like she’s smiling wide on the other side of the world. harry keeps it short, just checks in with them and asks how they’re doing over there without her, because there’s a naked boy with golden skin in her bed and she’d very much like to sit on his lap and maybe have some toast as she does just that._ _ _ _

____room service offers them an assortment of breakfast foods even though it’s just after two am, because they’re in the biggest band in the world and sometimes you’re allowed to use that to your advantage. she opens the door wrapped in just a robe, and zayn turns over just as the staff member wheels the cart in. she gives him a hefty tip along with the head nod against the bed, ushers him back out before turning back again, dropping the robe._ _ _ _

____he’s blinking awake as the door closes, and then he’s burrowing further into the sheets again, looking like a disgruntled old man because apparently he’s not dying of hunger like she is._ _ _ _

____“babe, it’s two am,” and it’s muffled into the duvet but harry likes to think of herself as an expert in early morning zayn speak. “come back,” he adds, a hand stretching out towards her from underneath the duvet._ _ _ _

____“i’m gonna eat some toast and then i’ll ride you, that alright?” she doesn’t bother waiting for answer with the way the duvet rustles then, his hair messy from earlier popping up along with his face, pretty brown eyes and lips that could start a revolution._ _ _ _

____he’s the best thing that has ever happened to her, and she’s not going to let it get away from her. with the way he’s propping himself up on one elbow, smiling at her from the bed, it doesn’t seem like he wants to._ _ _ _

____☼_ _ _ _

____“i kinda never wanna leave this room ever,” and she doesn’t make sense, words jumbling together as they spill out of her mouth, floating midair waiting for zayn to catch them and turn them into something pretty. there’s a gorgeous boy with his head resting on her hip, her long legs tangled around his torso, and it’s alright, isn’t it?_ _ _ _

____she takes another hit from the blunt he prepared just a minute ago, rolled it neatly using the surface of her belly as the perfect tabletop, pressed a kiss to the skin below her belly button when he was done. her heart had skipped a beat then, because she’s his, and he’s hers. anything else is unthinkable._ _ _ _

____“we’ll stay then. set up camp here, and hibernate,” zayn replies, voice heavy with smoke and sex and all things soft and pretty._ _ _ _

____“isn’t it in our contracts somewhere that we can’t do that? well, i would. hibernate that is.”_ _ _ _

____“we’ll live off of room service, and make louis bring us all the good stuff that we like.”_ _ _ _

____she doesn’t reply then, because her lips are already wrapped around the blunt and the inhale almost knocks her off her feet because this is that crazy strong weed zayn got his hands on in cali. she feels ethereal almost, and light like she could float off like that aunt in harry potter, which is a weird way to think about yourself, but she goes with it, imagining nothing underneath her, magic and spells lighting her up from the inside out._ _ _ _

____her train of thought is interrupted then, because there’s music blaring out of the tinny speakers on zayn’s iphone, a the weeknd remix that she faintly recognizes from hearing it on the bus, and his head is just slightly bopping along to it, rolling back and forth slow and languid against her hip bone. his hair is soft against her fingers._ _ _ _

____she feels like she could split the world open, eat it raw, consume everything inside of it and still have the heat of his body tucked in close. she wouldn’t mind._ _ _ _

____because really, it’s simple. as long as there’s a beat, whether it's being broadcasted across a stadium or soft through some phone speakers, and his body close to hers, she doesn’t need anything else._ _ _ _

_____fin. ____ _ _ _


End file.
